


lights will guide you home (and ignite your bones)

by goingmywaydoll



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the world can be dark and uncertain and cruel and when you lose the one person to face it with, you cherish every part of them left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lights will guide you home (and ignite your bones)

He comes to his daughter’s rooms that night, sober for the first time in weeks. He drowns in wine and meetings with nobles and Anne cries, but she doesn’t _just_ cry, she rarely stops. At night when her mother isn’t there to nurse her and during the day when it’s too cold or too hot and Francis has taken to sleeping in the small window seat in her room because he’s the only one that can get her to sleep through the night and he can’t sleep in their bed, not after watching Mary leave him in it.

And sometimes he keeps it together and he calls the nurses to see if she needs to feed or if she’s just fussy and he can do it alone, but other times he lets her cry because a crying father cannot do much to quiet a crying baby. 

But it’s one of those June nights when it’s finally warm at night, but not too warm and he wraps Anne in the blanket Mary embroidered when they were children and he had begged her to come play ball with him and her governess made her stay so he stomped off and later dug it out of her rooms to give Anne something of her mother’s since she could never have her.

He doesn’t tell the nurses where they’re going, but they don’t question it, knowing better than to challenge the grieving king of France. He holds Anne just as carefully as he did the first and last time Mary handed her to him and walks out to the South Lawn to wait. 

They don’t wait long before the fireflies come and Francis cannot help but think of an eight year old Mary jumping for joy at their appearance. He stands there with his daughter for a while and she’s mercifully silent as her blue eyes widen in wonder at the strange balls of light. After a while he begins to watch his daughter, and not the fireflies. She’s squirming in her blankets, a tuft of her brown hair peeking out. Her blue eyes—his eyes—are trying to follow each bug, her brow furrowed. 

“I used to watch them with your mother,” he whispers and his daughter’s eyes flicked to him. “We would sneak out after we were put to bed. We met here, on a night like this. And I brought her a pear because I knew she would be hungry.”

And he tells his daughter how Mary would try to catch them and the way the hem of her dress would dirty as she ran through the wet grass barefoot. He tells her of the way his mother and their governesses would yell at them so when he discovered they were missing. He tells her of the way Mary looked at him while everyone yelled and how she smiled and not one part of him regretted any of it. He tells her how he was forced to stay inside all of the next day, working on his Latin and how they couldn’t even see each other.

When he finishes telling her about the trouble they got up to, he looks down and sees her eyes drifting closed at her forehead softening with sleep.

“Your mother would think you were the most beautiful baby ever to be born,” he says. “And she’d be right. She was right about most things.”

 

And with that, Francis blinks hard and watches as a tear falls from his eye to his daughter’s balled fist.

 

* * *

 

“Jeanne? I’m going to take Anne for the night,” he says to the nurse as she prepares his daughter for bed. Anne shoots up from her bed, already in her nightgown. Jeanne nods understandingly and allows Anne to bounce across the room to her father. The young princess launches herself into her father’s arms and Francis’s grunts with the impact. At four years old, she’s nearly too big to carry and with each time he’s reminded of this fact, Francis feels a pang in his heart. His little princess is growing up.

“Where are we going, Papa?” she asks, bouncing in his arms with excitement. It’s not often that she gets to stay up past her bedtime.

“It’s a surprise,” he says, pressing a finger to his lips and Anne pouts.

“Please?” she draws out the word, looking at him with  _those_  eyes. Francis shakes his head. Not this time.

He grabs Mary’s blanket from the chair it is thrown over, knowing Anne may get cold, and carries his daughter out of her room. By the time they make it outside, Francis’s muscles are protesting and he sets Anne down, relieved.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

“Shhh.” He puts his finger to his lips once more and whispers, “Just wait.”

Anne, like her mother, has never been very patient and as Francis keeps his eyes peeled for any sign of the bugs, he can see her fidgeting beside him in the corner of his eye.

“Be patient,” he says, nudging her.

“For what?” she asks but Francis only returns to looking for them.

He’s not sure how long they wait for the first one, but Anne is close to running back to her room regardless by the time they do.

“Papa, look!” she squeals, pointing to a small blinking light in the grass. She bolts from his side, her little legs pushing her towards the firefly. It flutters away quickly when she nears it and once again, they’re alone. She looks back at her father questioningly, willing him to tell her they’ll be back. He smiles reassuringly and juts his head towards the space behind her. Anne whirls around to see now hundreds of fireflies flickering across the lawn. Her little mouth parts in a small  _O_  and Francis walks forward to stand beside her.

It doesn’t take long for her to begin to chase them and she does so with gusto, her slippers falling off as she runs towards the little bugs. Francis’s face breaks into a smile as he sees her clasp one in her hands victoriously. She runs back to him proudly, opening her fingers so he can see the glowing light against her skin.

“It tickles,” she says, giggling.

“It’s trying to escape,” he says and Anne looks up at him, worry in her eyes.

“It doesn’t want to be held?” she asks.

“You have to let them come to you,” he says. “If you trap them, they won’t want to stay. Look.” He takes Anne’s hands in his and coaxes them open so the firefly can fly away. When Anne looks at him despairingly, he adds softly “Watch this now.”

Walking forward, he puts a hand out and waits. Anne comes to stand beside him, her forehead crinkling as she watches him intently. After several minutes, a firefly comes to land on his forefinger, blinking in the darkness. Anne squeals with joy, leaning in to look at it.

“I want to try!” she exclaims.

“You have to be patient, all right?” he says and Anne nods seriously. She puts her hand out like he did and waits for a firefly to land on it. After about a minute, however, she begins to squirm.

“There aren’t any coming, Papa!”

“I said, patience, didn’t I?” he asks and Anne frowns, shifting before putting her hand out once more. Finally, after about five minutes, a small firefly comes to rest on her palm. Francis knows his daughter well enough to know that she’ll scare the firefly away before long, so he whispers, “Shhh, now don’t move.”

Anne follows his advice and freezes, staring at the bug with wonder.

“It’s so small,” she says quietly and Francis’s lips quirk. “Even smaller than me.”

Father and daughter stand on the lawn, watching their own fireflies blink in the night. He’s never seen Anne so still for so long and he’s filled with a sense of pride and melancholy. He remembers teaching Mary this trick when they were young. She, like Anne, could barely wait for the fireflies to come to her. It only took Francis threatening to eat her pear for her to finally sit still.

Francis breathes in sharply, looking down at his daughter. She’s too young to see her father cry, so he swallows and thinks about what Mary’s smile when she told him she was pregnant looked like and not what it looked like when she told him to take care of their daughter. He looks down to his daughter, with her brown curls and blue eyes and watches as she swallows a yawn and he’s glad they’re not tears and he hadn’t told her the significance of this moment.

“All right, time for bed,” he says, moving finally and allowing the firefly to fly away from him. Anne pouts, her lip trembling.

“Just a little longer?” she asks.

“It’s already past your bedtime, love,” he says and she sighs, but lets the firefly fly away anyways. She looks up at him expectantly and he laughs, leaning down to hoist her up and carry her back to bed. Anne may have protested about leaving, but there’s no doubt she’s tired. By the time they make it back to her room, her head is resting on his shoulder and her eyes are closed. He dismisses the nurses and carries her to her bed himself, taking her slippers and robe off and tucking her into bed. Her eyes flicker open when he sets her down, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Goodnight, princess,” he whispers, blowing out the candle and kissing her forehead lightly as he pulls the covers over her small shoulders.

 

* * *

 

“We haven’t done this in years, Father,” Anne says. At fifteen, she’s past the years of Papa and getting excited to see the fireflies. Francis fixes her with a look as he motions to her slippers.

“It’s different this time,” he says and Anne shrugs, putting on her slippers and following him out the door. They both know the castle inside and out by now so it doesn’t take much time to get to the South Lawn. Anne is much too big to be carried and she has been for quite some time, so at least Francis isn’t slowed down.

“How long will we wait this year?” Anne asks good-naturedly, looking at her father. Francis smiles but says nothing, only putting his finger to his lips. Anne isn’t nearly as impatient as she used to be, but Francis can see her foot tapping the grass as each minute passes.

“Be patient,” he says without turning to her.

“I am patient!” she says indignantly and he can see her foot cease in its tapping. He smirks and crosses his arms. “Oh, stuff it.”

The pair doesn’t wait for quite as long as they used to, or maybe it just seems so because Anne isn’t tugging at his sleeve every minute and a half. Anne doesn’t chase the fireflies this time, or even hold out her hand to wait for them to come to her, instead she just pensively watches him. He wonders what she’s thinking about. To her, fireflies are a tradition between her father and her. They’re a summer activity, a way to stay up past her bedtime. At the same time, he wonders if a part of her knows their significance, if she can guess why they mean so much to him.

And as if she’s reading his mind, she says softly, “You and Mother used to watch them, didn’t you?”

Francis pauses, thinking through what to tell her and how. He swallows and nods.

“Mostly when we were little. We weren’t supposed to. We escaped from our governesses after everyone went to bed. We’d sneak into the kitchens to get snacks. She always got hungry. We’d sit right here on the South Lawn and watch them for hours and look at the stars and make up stories. I taught her the same trick I taught you when you were four. She was even more impatient than you. It was infuriating to sit with her as she fidgeted. She just didn’t understand why they wouldn’t come some nights. But I didn’t—“ he breaks off, not allowing himself to continue. He’s barely cognizant of Anne looking at him carefully and all he can see is floating lanterns over the lake and the way it felt to have Mary in his arms.

“ _Whatever the future brings,_ ” he had said, “ _You are my light_.”

“You miss her,” Anne says quietly, her hand on his arm.

“Every day,” he says, his voice cracking.

“How do you—“ she starts, “How are you all right?”

“I’m not,” he says honestly and Anne looks taken aback. “But I have you.”

“But I—“ He can see the tears in her eyes now. “But it’s my fault. I’m why she isn’t here. I’m why she’s can’t see fireflies anymore. She’s your light, not me.”

“Anne…” He turns to her, enveloping his daughter in his arms and willing himself not to cry. He can feel her shoulders shaking against him, tears held back for years finally flowing. “That is the most untrue statement I have ever heard. It is  _not_ your fault. God decided that the world could not contain both of you. She loved you  _so_  much and seeing you blame yourself for her death would tear her apart. And besides, she’s not gone, not really. I see her in you every day, in your words, in your smile… You have her smile. It was such a privilege to see her smile. And not the smile she used on nobles, or your grandmother. The smile when she told me she was pregnant with you, or the smile when we watched the fireflies, or when I asked her to marry me. It was such a gift to wake up to her each morning and it kills me you can’t.

“I know this hurts to hear,” he says, finally pulling away and taking her hands in his. His daughter’s eyes are red and puffy, her shoulders still shaking. “But I just want you to know how amazing your mother was and how proud of you she would be. You are so much more than we ever imagined. And losing her may have been the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, but you make it—you make it all so  _so_  much better. You are my light now.”

Anne’s lip begins to tremble once more and she once more collapses into his arms, mourning for the mother she never had.

“I think—“ she says after several moments, “I think I want to be alone.”

Francis nods, running the pad of his thumb across her face to wipe a stray tear. She hugs her father once more, quickly and squeezing him tight, before kissing his cheek and retreating back into the castle. Francis buries his face in his hands when she’s gone, rubbing his face tiredly and looking up at the sky.

“My God, Mary,” he says, sighing. “I miss you more than I thought it was possible to miss a person. I see you every day, not only in Anne but when I meet with nobles and you should be beside me, ruling our countries. I couldn’t sleep in our bed for months. There was still a dent on your side and I couldn’t bear for it to go away. It’s long gone now, like nearly every mark of you in the castle. I feel like every trace of you is gone. All but me at least. I feel like Anne and I are the only remnants of you. You left a mark on me, Mary, and I don’t think it will ever go away.

“You would love her. Anne, that is. You know what I’m talking about, you always did. Sometimes she’s so like you it scares me. But sometimes I see bits of Claude and Bash in her and I worry I’ll lose my only tether to you. Sometimes I wish she had your eyes. So I’d never forget what it was like to look into them. Not that I would. Though, I suppose it might hurt too much to see you. You haunt me, Mary. I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

“ _You already have_ ,” he can imagine her saying, her hand cupping his cheek.

“I just need you. Each breath is harder to take, each morning is harder to wake to, each night is harder to fall asleep to and I thought it would get easier, I thought the years would heal me but they haven’t and I miss you more and more every day. I feel…hollow sometimes. This absence of you is too much.”

It’s now that Francis realizes the fireflies have retreated and he is alone in the dark. He prays for something, anything. The one person he needs to comfort him about Mary’s absence is the one person he cannot have and will never have.

And so Francis de Valois wipes his tears, turns around and walks back into his castle alone.


End file.
